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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530511">found in translation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday'>CarmenOnMonday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Attempt at Humor, Cliche, Exhausted students, Gen, M/M, Miscommunication, Slow Build, So what, chaotic energy, student!Dele, teacher!Eric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:09:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,635</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Dele's last semester at uni. It should be easy enough to see his student's adventure through. But of course, something has to go wrong; he's missing one crucial credit to complete his studies. Cue professor Dier's Intermediate Portuguese class.</p><p>Here's the catch: Dele doesn't speak a word of Portuguese.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dele Alli/Eric Dier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a lot to take on, but this idea just won't leave me alone. Some of you heard about it before because I was unable to shut up.</p><p>Funnily enough, neither of the below used languages is my native one, so please be kind about it.<br/>Huge thanks to Bea (@thefutureduchessmarie) for help with Portuguese!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as the class ends, Dele’s up from his seat and walking down the aisle. He’s ready to clean up this mess.</p><p>He starts talking halfway down the stairs.</p><p>“So, prof, uhhh, it’s kind of an accident that I’m here...” The teacher is standing with his back to Dele, but it doesn’t throw him off his game. “You see, I study marketing, so, you know, nothing connected to languages, and it’s my last semester. Here comes the funny part. My advisor realised I’m missing one more credit to graduate. But my plan was full already! The only other option was Geopolitics on Tuesday nights, but I’m in the football squad and the boys count on me because without me they won’t have a midfielder and they just can’t deal without attacking one, so the whole team would get a hit and you surely understand it wasn't <em>really</em> an option. The only other class to take was yours; well, I could take it with Mourinho, but I would like to stay alive, thank you very much, that’s kind of a requirement to graduate too.”</p><p>After an hour and a half of sitting quietly in the back, trying to avoid eye contact with the teacher and blend into the background, Dele’s rushing through the words, relieved to be finally able to explain his antics. It’s not natural to him, shutting up for so long in class, he’s better than that; it’s not natural to him in any other environment as well, and he’s desperate to let the teacher know.</p><p>“So I chose you, but the thing is, I- Yeah, this is embarrassing, but I only took Spanish in high school for like three semesters so I’m not exactly a native speaker yet, I know, like, <em>hola</em>, and <em>que tal</em>, so we’re good there, but, yeah, I- I was kind of struggling right there, you’ve seen probably. I might need some more time, but I’ll do my best, I’ll try to-“</p><p>The teacher finally turns around from where he was sorting his papers and faces him. His expression throws Dele off.</p><p>“Huh?” The teacher hums while sporting the biggest frown Dele’s ever seen on a person.</p><p>A frown there are probably legends about.</p><p>He’s clearly oblivious to everything Dele’s just said.</p><p>He opens his mouth and in a low voice says something as indecipherable as everything he said during the class. Dele barely manages to catch a “Portugal” and a “por favour” somewhere in the sentence, but he’s not even proud of himself for his little linguistic success because his mind slowly connects the dots.</p><p>The teacher didn’t say a single word in English during their class. Not before it, not after. And now he is looking at Dele like he's speaking Chinese, and... and it all falls into places.</p><p>Dele’s hit by realisation shocking enough to make his jaw drop.</p><p>“Oh. Oh. I assumed that you would-“ He catches himself, realising it’s not time to panic in English. It’s time to panic in Portuguese. Which he doesn’t know, like, at all. “Eeee. Lo... siento? Lo siento. I didn’t think. Oh fuck.”</p><p>With the disapproving glare the teacher gives him, Dele can tell he understood this last sentence. The first one from his whole monologue in English. Figures.</p><p>“Eeeee...” Behind Dele, someone coughs impatiently. “Okay, okay, nevermind, no importo? No importa? Who knows, not me... Sorry, lo siento, I’ll talk to you later, bye! Adios! Oh shit.”</p><p>Dele turns around and scurries away. On his way out he catches a glance of Maria’s glare.</p><p>Even his fast steps aren’t enough to protect him from facing reality. He can still hear as Maria starts speaking to their teacher in impeccable Portuguese and Dier is answering the same way what only proves he’s neither deaf nor a man of few words. He just doesn’t speak English, and Dele doesn’t speak Portuguese but somehow managed to join the Intermediate Portuguese class he needs to pass to graduate, and...</p><p>And Dele is screwed.</p>
<hr/><p>“It’s not the same!” Gazza stares at him with big eyes. “I’m Argentinean, why did you think I could help you with Portuguese?”</p><p>Dele frowns.</p><p>“Aren’t Spanish and Portuguese almost the same? Like, uhh, <em>paella, si, no. Que tal?</em> Fine, thanks?”</p><p>Paulo isn’t impressed. “This is racist.”</p><p>Winksy, who watches their exchange with amuse, snorts into his food.</p><p>“And how was I supposed to know the teacher won’t speak English? It’s the twenty first century, everybody speaks English! Especially in England!”</p><p>“One could argue about that,“ Winky mutters between bites of pizza.</p><p>Paolo’s long abandoned his lunch, instead focusing on letting Dele know how dumb he is. Like Dele isn’t aware. “No kidding, mate, this really <em>is</em> racist.”</p><p>“The guy is young, has an English name, it was only fair to assume-“</p><p>“What’s his name?”</p><p>“Eric Dier.” The words leave a vile aftertaste in Dele’s mouth.</p><p>“Ah, this guy! Okay, he teaches Spanish as well, I’ll give you that. Still not the same thing.”</p><p>“Sorted,” Harry jumps in. “At least he’ll understand your attempts, huh?”</p><p>There’s some commotion in the back of the cafeteria, some first year student who dozed of ends up on the floor, taking his laptop with himself. He quickly scrambles up, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week and on top of that was hit by a truck. Dele feels bad for him. They all were there at some point.</p><p>He shakes his head and comes back to the burning issue.</p><p>“Maybe I could transfer to his Spanish class?” he wonders out loud. “When is it?”</p><p>Paulo rolls his eyes. “No idea. Not like I need it.” He softens then, seemingly feeling the tension in the air, and reaches out for his phone. “I can check for you...?”</p><p>“Nah, wait, it won’t fit my schedule anyway. Only this one did. It was this or giving up football.”</p><p>Gazza squeals.</p><p>“Exactly! Now you get why you need to help me?”</p><p>Dele tries not to feel offended when Paulo raises from his seat and takes a few seconds before he responds.</p><p>“I don’t know Portuguese. I can help you with Spanish, but that’s all.” He walks away, his perfect hair shining in the artificial light of the cafeteria.</p><p>“Thanks, mate, I’ll need it. Gotta communicate with the teacher somehow,” Dele mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “Don’t look at me like that, Winksy.” Dele deflates once the only person around is his best friend. He is who he is, but he knows Dele, and Dele never forces himself to joke around in front of him when he doesn’t feel like it. “I’m not stupid. I really didn’t have any choice and I am trying really hard to stay positive, okay? I have to finish uni, I have to. I’ll manage somehow.”</p><p>Winky pats him on the shoulder with the hand he’s not holding a pizza piece in. It’s greasy too, but Dele appreciates the attempt.</p><p>“I still don’t get how you didn’t notice you’re missing one more credit, mate,” Winksy comments.</p><p>Dele looks down at his feet.</p><p>“...yeah, no idea.”</p>
<hr/><p>The next time Dele goes to class, he’s prepared.</p><p>He’s also barely awake, after the night he spent on Duolingo, context reverso, and the library’s online repository of Portuguese textbooks on which he gratuitously used Google Translate. When he steps through the door, shaking from caffeine abuse, and, well, probably some anxiety too, he’s holding tight onto his cup of coffee like it’s his last lifeline.</p><p>He forces himself to open his mouth when he passes the teacher. “Oi!” he mutters, his voice breaking awkwardly. He tries to skip to his place in the back, but the teacher’s voice stops him in half-a-step.</p><p>“Bom dia!” he says, and that much Dele understands, after endless repetition from the Duolingo owl. “Como está o senhor?”</p><p>He’s being asked how he is, he rather guesses than understands. He can feel the sweat on his hands when he opens his mouth to answer. “Bien. Obri- obrigado. Y tu?”</p><p>The teacher’s smile drops and turns into a frown again, and Dele can feel shame settle down in his stomach, but he’s saved from further embarrassment when another student comes into the class.</p><p>Dele flees, as soon as he hears steps behind himself, and all but runs to the last row he know he’ll claim his own from now on.</p><p>In between all the listening and reading he did during the night, he actually thought it would be okay, but just one casual conversation later he’s turned into a shaking mess.</p><p>He stares down at the textbook, trying to calm down his breath, and imagines just getting up and leaving, running away as far as possible, where no stupid issues like some meaningless uni class can reach him. But there’s a big problem in all his day dreaming. If he leaves- if he leaves, he’ll be stuck in uni for another year. He can’t do that. He can’t afford it, he can’t deal with disappointment, he can’t allow that stupid bastard-</p><p>Dier’s voice cuts through his thoughts and Dele realises the class is full and it’s already starting.</p><p>Okay, he can do that.</p><p>Dier talks quickly, far too quickly for Dele to follow what’s going on, so he settles for his old strategy; he watches what other people are doing, opens the textbook when he’s supposed to, stares at the text when someone else is reading out loud and has Google Translate on his phone constantly in use.</p><p>When they move to the next text and Maria starts reading, Dele realises she sounds completely different than that youtuber he listened to. He could try to believe that it’s her issue, not his, but compared to what Dele’s somehow used to, Dier sounds like he’s blabbering, all harsh consonants and different words.</p><p>Dele’s struggling to get a hold of anything at all.</p><p>They move to some exercises and he panics slightly when he realises they are doing them one by one.</p><p>When all the people in the row in front of him are done, he gets into action. He hits the guy next to him with his elbow.</p><p>Tony, Dele think is his name, is not amused.</p><p>“What’s supposed to be in the sixth?” Dele asks in a hushed voice, not enjoying having to ask for help at all.</p><p>This is not him. Not him. But he does what needs to be done.</p><p>Tony rolls his eyes but shows him the answer. Dele scribbles it down just in time to hear his name falling from Dier’s mouth.</p><p>Maybe he’d appreciate how nice it sounds in Dier’s low voice, if it wasn’t the first word he understood in few minutes.</p><p>“Espero que,” Dele swallows before continuing reading the answer. “havia um jogo de futebol amanhã.“</p><p>He’s butched the pronounciation, he knows it, and when he raises his eyes, the teacher is shaking his head what only confirms Dele’s suspision.</p><p>“Espero que <strong>haja</strong> um jogo de futebol amanhã,” Dier corrects patiently.</p><p>“Yeah. Si. Sim,” Dele mutters glaring at his, honestly embarrassed, companion.</p><p>Dele can feel professor’s careful eyes on himself for the rest of the lesson; he squirms in his seat, wishing for the end already, and when they are let go, he’s the first up and running.</p><p>He doesn’t even care that he didn’t understand what they’re supposed to do as homework. He just wants to run away straight to Gareth’s office and beg for any other solution.</p><p>“Dele!” he hears again, when he’s almost out of the door.</p><p>He’s tempted to ignore it, but in the end, his well-behaved side wins this time. He slowly turns and approaches the teacher.</p><p>Dier doesn’t seem mad, rather concerned, and it gives Dele some hope that maybe he won’t be thrown out of the class after the second lesson. It would be a new record, for sure.</p><p>“Eu estou a ver que estás com dificuldades,” he says, and Dele can only look into his eyes helplessly, words still as indecipherable as before.</p><p>Dier looks like he wants to help. He really does. His blue eyes are soft, little wrinkles all around them from the careful smile he’s sporting, and Dele’s just done. Fuck it, he decides, and resorts to a drastic solution.</p><p>Honesty.</p><p>Dier observes him carefully while Dele tries to find notes he prepared for himself, in case of an emergency such as this. After some frantic searching in his bag full of notebooks, used tissues and old candy wrappers, he gets a hold of it. He unfolds the piece of paper and after one last careful glance – Dier is still looking like he’s concerned, like he’s ready to offer help, and is giving off vibes good enough to convince normally suspicious Dele - he starts to read.</p><p>“Eu não falo português,” he stutters. “Like, at all. No. No português. Yo no hablo portugues.”</p><p>He hopes the teacher gets it.</p><p>Dier chuckles. He honest to God chuckles and mutters something again. “Não me diga!”</p><p>Dele huffs and turns to leave. A hand on his shoulder stops him. When Dele turns his attention back to Dier, he’s serious again. "Estás a usar o dialeto errado”</p><p>“What?” Dele asks, half done already.</p><p>”Brasil.” He points at Dele. “Portugal.” He points at himself.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mutters.</p><p>“Não diga asneiras à minha frente.” Dele guesses he’s being scolded. “Venha à minha hora de atendimento.”</p><p>At Dele’s incredulous facial expression, Dier just sighs and jots down something. He gives Dele a piece of paper with a date (this Thursday), time (8pm) and the office number (350 in the Lingustics wing). Dele’s relieved to see that he’s free at that time; they end football practice at 7.30 pm, that should give him enough time to run straight to Dier's office.</p><p>Then Dier shoos him away from the classroom.</p><p>If Dele didn’t know better, he would say that in the last glimpse of him he manages to catch, he looks kind of amused.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't worry if you didn't understand Portuguese parts here, Dele didn't either. (Making you all figure it out from the context was the point. But. See translations below.) Also, Dele is mixing Spanish and Portuguese and dialects thereof. Totally on purpose.</p><p>From the next part, we'll be abandoning Portuguese in favour of writing in English in italics, because I don't want to exhaust you. But this time around, it was important.</p><p>Espero que haja um jogo de futebol amanhã. - I hope there will be a football game tomorrow.<br/>Eu estou a ver que estás com dificuldades. - I can see you're having a tough time.<br/>Eu não falo português. - I don't speak Portuguese.<br/>Não me diga! - Don't you say.<br/>Estás a usar o dialeto errado. - You're using the wrong dialect.<br/>Não diga asneiras à minha frente. - Don't swear in front of me.<br/>Venha à minha hora de atendimento. - Come to my office hours.</p><p>...any thoughts?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't enjoy starting every update with "yes, I'm still alive", I swear. Most of you know that I'm alive anyway with how much I whine on tumblr!</p><p>Enjoy this little update! xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s funny how the perception of time changes with its flow; what was at first a source of an encompassing relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with Dier and his stupid unnecessary class for the next 48 hours, rots in front of his eyes with each passing moment, and then suddenly two blinks later he is in front of the infamous Linguistics building, still breathing heavily after the jog across the campus. </p><p>The football pitch and Linguistics professors offices are on the opposite sides of the university area - because of course they are - and it takes every ounce of energy still bouncing in his body after the strenuous training to get there in time. To be fair, Dele, having not checked in advance how to say “sorry for being late” in Portuguese, has a strong enough motivation to be punctual.  </p><p>The building is old and stinky, completely different than what he’s used to in their marketing faculty, and while Dele goes up several floors (the lift is broken, as it turns out, because, once again, of course it is), he feels like he’s entering some other dimension. When he knocks on the door, and it’s Dier on the other side, greeting him with a big smile and some words Dele cannot comprehend, it definitely feels like he’s not in Kansas anymore. (In London, technically, but Dorothy - Dorothy is a star, okay?)</p><p>Dier asks how he is, to which Dele is more than able to reply, thank you very much. He can even ask back, that’s what a shrewd student he is, and then Dier points at the chair in front of his desk and disappears behind the side door. Dele drops on the chair unceremoniously and appreciates the moment he has to take in the surroundings and calm down his frantic breathing (after the run, not because of the nerves; he doesn’t get nervous around teachers anymore, he doesn’t, and he has absolutely nothing against one-to-one consultations for <em>sleazy delinquents</em>, as Winksy quipped; it’s <em> totally fine</em>).</p><p>Shelves full of books, some weird paintings of colorful rectangles and circles (and what the heck is going on with that?), papers upon papers on the desk and a very specific smell in the air he wouldn’t be able to name; all in all, it’s a pretty standard if rather messy office. Until a big frame with a football shirt catches Dele’s eyes, and he blurts:</p><p>“Football fan?” </p><p>He doesn’t expect a rapid and perfectly accented response from behind the door: “<em>Sporting Clube de Portugal</em>”.</p><p>Dele sees the name also engraved on the little trophy pushed to the back of the shelf closest to him, and he mindlessly mumbles after Dier to mimic the way he has said it, exaggerated low scratchy voice and all.</p><p>“<em>Bem</em>,” a voice beams above him, accompanying the glass which is placed in front of Dele. Dier then reappears in his vision and takes his own spot at the head of the desk. </p><p>Dele’s cheeks burn.</p><p>Dier opens his mouth and asks him a long question which Dele’s brain in a shot-in-a-dark attempt interprets as: “What is your favourite club?”</p><p>And so he shots back: “Chelsea”. </p><p>The disgust on Dier’s face is a clear indication that Dele’s answer was not essentially wrong, but somehow personally offensive to him.</p><p>“Ekhem, I mean… Tottenham also?” </p><p>This earns him a nod and a slight raise of one corner of Dier’s mouth.</p><p>Encouraged by all these proofs of his communication prowess, Dele starts: </p><p>“Listen, if this is about changing the class, I wish I could but-”</p><p>A little wrinkle appears on Dier’s forehead and he raises one of his fingers; that’s just enough to effectively shut Dele up. Dier emanates authority in a way not many teachers do these days, not without giving off unfriendly or even aggressive vibes. It’s different with Dier, a scruffy man with undoubtedly kind eyes, and Dele finds himself instinctively following his guide. </p><p>No amount of kind eyes can stop Dele’s nervous twitching though, because he is still completely helpless in Portuguese, and his fate lies in this man’s hands. For Dele, who earned everything he owns through his own hard work and intellect, it’s just far more dependency than he can accept.</p><p>His hand travels to anxiously play with the glass as he waits; he waits for Dier’s next move, for the explanation as to why he’s here and what’s expected of him. Dier isn’t stupid, he must’ve noticed already that Dele sticks out from the rest of the group like a sore thumb. The question is what he’s going to do about it. That would be the true test of his character, maybe, but Dele supposes it might be futile to even look for a good character in teachers. Maybe teachers are just teachers and their power somehow excludes them from having normal people personalities, that would explain… but no, Dele’s not ready to become a complete sceptic, that’s not the way he wants to go ever again.</p><p>So instead, he makes an effort to believe that Dier is at least a decent man.</p><p>The man in question puts a textbook in front of him, the one Dele already grew to hate, full of weird, unnatural photos of smiling people with text bubbles filled with the familiarly unfamiliar words. These intermediate level books don’t include a single sentence in English which renders them practically useless.</p><p>Dele raises his brow in Dier’s direction.</p><p>“<em>Lê isto, por favor</em>,” the teacher says and points at a chosen line from the reading they were supposed to familiarize themselves with as a homework assignment.</p><p>Dele clears his throat and tries to somehow follow all these weird consonants. He’s on a fifth word when the book is suddenly snatched away. Dier shakes his head in a way that’s far too condescending for Dele’s liking. </p><p>He places another book in front of him; this time, pages are less congested, and with a surprise Dele notices some instructions in English. Again, Dier points at the reading exercise and prompts him with a start of the sentence.</p><p>Dele tries his best, Dele fails, the book disappears from his sight. He wonders if Dier can hear the sound of something heavy dropping in his stomach.</p><p>As if nothing has happened, he presents Dele with some kind of novel next.</p><p>"<em>Em A Menina do Mar, a escritora projeta sobre </em>-” Dele stutters out - tries to - before the book disappears from in front of his eyes.</p><p>The next textbook looks like it’s on the beginner level. Still, Dier opens it somewhere in the middle, and to Dele, it might as well be written in Chinese. <em> Nothing changed in the last three seconds, you genius</em>, an annoyed voice he sometimes lets take over his mouth screams inside him, but he swallows the bile and continues the farce. </p><p>Their weird dance repeats: Dele uncovers his incompetence, Dier takes away the book, Dele trembles even more violently. </p><p>And then, the teacher presents him with a thin book, a collection of short stories aimed at small children. Each page is full of colours, animated pictures of animals covering the entire space, and there’s the story in Portuguese on the left, in English on the right. The text is even divided into small sections placed in the same page areas to indicate clearly which parts correspond with each other.</p><p>A passive-aggressive blue cartoon cat mocks Dele as he is hit with shame which all but brings tears to his eyes. Humiliated and choked up, he lifts his gaze up to see if Dier is laughing at him, but the man looks earnest, and then almost apologetic as he lets out a little shushing noise and points once again at a part he wants Dele to start at.</p><p>The book is worn, well-loved probably. Dele can barely see the letters, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, so he takes a deep breath and gives it his best, yet again.</p><p>He stops at the end of the sentence, unsure what to do next if he was not interrupted. </p><p>Dier mumbles something, nods with appreciation, and offers him a soft smile. He repeats the sentence from memory, corrects a few pronunciation errors Dele has made and nods at Dele to go again. </p><p>With a grace which might be probably compared to that of a little duckling learning to walk, he does. </p><p>Dier beams at him. </p><p>It’s a damn children's book for snotty five year olds who can barely build a sentence in any language, but at another act of kindness from Dier - who could’ve very easily just thrown him out of his office and written him off - a weight is taken away from Dele’s shoulders. He can’t stop his own lips from forming a shy smile, the first one since he stepped into the office. He’s still pretty much shaking, but his micro success is a source of a weird pride.</p><p>Dier encourages him to read further and further on and stops him gently after each sentence to add little corrections. Dele gets consequently more and more involved in his task, spurred by long-awaited signs of progress. The English translation and simplicity of vocabulary is a true fillip.</p><p>As Dele relaxes, he is able to admit that the blue cat on the page doesn’t look rude anymore; it’s a little cutie, to be honest, especially with the bow drawing added by a child's shaky hand. </p><p>They go at it until they’re three stories in. Dier talks a bit in the meantime, small comments Dele understands or not - if not, he just looks at him helplessly until Dier laughs and shakes his head, and Dele doesn’t really mind. He hopes the teacher doesn’t mind either. </p><p>They’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Dier’s face is suddenly painted with panic; he appears to be similarly surprised by how quickly the time has passed. He starts explaining  something in a rush, catches himself, and then adds little gestures - to the previous stories, which Dele interprets as an encouragement for him to practice on his own, to one new story, which is probably his self study. He says something more, asks a question, probably, judging by the inflection and the expectant look he offers.</p><p>“What?” Dele blurts.</p><p>Dier repeats, but Dele can only flail his arms helplessly.</p><p>Dier then sighs and jots something down on a piece of paper which he forces into Dele’s hand, this time with next Monday’s date. </p><p>“Oh, shoot, I can’t then, I help out at the library on Monday’s evenings-” Dele shakes his head.</p><p>Dier crosses it out and instead proposes Tuesday. Once again, straight after the football practice.</p><p>Dele winces, but says: “sure, okay, I can do that,” because he’s not one to push too far, and then, with a children story book in his hand, still slightly lightheaded, he’s on his way back to the dorm. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Dele!” </p><p>Someone snatches headphones off his ears, and Dele’s heart skips a beat before he realises it’s Ruby who’s responsible for the attack.</p><p>“I was trying to catch up with you since you left the East wing, what the heck? You know I hate running!” She hits him playfully on the head.</p><p>“What were you even doing by the East wing?” he asks in retaliation. “Last time I checked you did not have any business classes. Don’t tell me that you… That you were…” he pauses dramatically.</p><p>“Shut up,” she mutters, catches him under the arms and starts walking again. “I was waiting for you.”</p><p>“Yeah, as nice as that would be, I somehow doubt it. But if you say so… It must’ve been a coincidence that I’ve seen Trent walking into the building on my way out.”</p><p>“He was there?! How did I-” She shakes her head. “Nevermind. I really did hope to see you. We never get to hang out anymore.”</p><p>The campus is alive and flourishing on that beautiful Friday afternoon. People are spread across the grass taking in some sunlight, and there’s even a pop-up ice cream stand Dele’s never seen before. It would be great to spend some time chilling out in the fresh air with his oldest uni friend, but...</p><p>“Busy bee, that’s me,” he shots, still strutting confidently towards the canteen. He has exactly thirty minutes to get lunch before he needs to go to Business Environment class with Lloris. </p><p>“How about I cheer for you all at the training, and then we’ll go to the club, like the old times? Our whole group?”</p><p>Dele squints. “Will you be cheering for me or some very particular defender, though?”</p><p>“Don’t change the topic, I really do miss my boo. There was no one to dance to Toxic with me the last time we went.” She just barely manages to add some humour to the statement. Dele can tell she truly misses him. There’s not much he can offer though.</p><p>“I would love to-” He really, really would. He can barely remember the last time he got to enjoy the free evening. Not in this term. It will have to wait till he graduates though. “-but I would be truly, truly fucked.”</p><p>She raises her brow. “Hot date?” </p><p>“Yeah, with a teacher,” Dele mutters, suddenly aware of why Ruby seemed so irritated at his teasing. He doesn’t need a reminder of his non-existent love life.</p><p>“Not my thing, but I’m not one to judge,” she quips. They walk into the canteen, which is less crowded than normally because of  all these people preferring to sit outside. Also, it’s Friday. Some lucky students don’t even have classes on Fridays.</p><p>A familiar group immediately catches Dele’s eye. “Oh look, we’ll all eat together! Don’t you ever say I don’t make time for you.” He smiles bashfully at Ruby.</p><p>She answers with a concerned pout. “But the next time you’ll go with us, right?”</p><p>Dele rolls his eyes. </p><p>“I’ll go with you <em>some </em> time, sure,” he answers and walks off to buy his lunch, leaving her to go and sit with their typical group of misfits. Ruby always cooks her own food. Dele has no idea how she manages that, on top of her internship at a publishing company and all these classes from the Literature major lead by Davis.</p><p>Once the food is bought, he drops on the spot between Son and Gazza. Somehow, it’s a good day for the group as the table is almost full; some boys from the team, including Winksy, the other Harry and little Kyle, the assortment of their mismatched friends found here and there in the past three years, like Ruby who Dele adopted as almost a sister when he saw her on the first day carrying so many books from the library that her impressive heels were almost bending, Kate who used to be the other Harry’s girlfriend but decided to focus on becoming a youngest ever Prime Minister instead, her friend Jane… </p><p>Dele doesn’t bother to interrupt their conversation, offers them a short wave and starts to ravish the meal.</p><p>Kyle is reliving the story of professor Henderson’s husband coming to their lecture and bringing him his phone because he forgot it, and what a reaction it caused from all the girls around when they saw their heartless history teacher melt in front of their eyes, when Son suddenly reaches into Dele’s open backback and brings something up to everyone to see.</p><p>“What is that?! Dele, what is that?” he shouts with excitation. “Are you hiding something?”</p><p>“Am I an uncle, Del?” Winksy gasps.</p><p>“Shut up!” Dele snatches the thin Portguese book from Son’s hold and tries to hide it behind his back. “Hey!” He adds when Gazza betrays him and forces it out of Dele’s hands.</p><p>“Awww, this is cute,” he comments upon quickly scanning the content. “Is it your bedtime story?”</p><p>“He could use some. He never sleeps. Never,” Winksy complains.</p><p>“It’s not me who spends half of the night watching por-”</p><p>Winksy jumps up from his seat and covers Dele’s mouth with his hand. “Hey, dickhead, ladies present!”</p><p>Dele hits him on his forearm and manages to force Gazza to let go of the book. He quickly pushes it back into his backpack and zips it up for a good measure.</p><p>“It’s from Dier,” he admits, albeit not with much enthusiasm. </p><p>As much as he likes all the people from their friend group, it’s still a friend group, not just… <em> friends</em>.</p><p>“Hey, I know the man! I’ve got Spanish with him!” Jane comments. “He’s a great guy. Very competent. I heard he’s tough on the exams though, only believes in oral ones.”</p><p>“Awesome,” Dele mutters into his food.</p><p>The conversation goes off, Kane jumping in with a complaint about oral exams even being practiced in the third year of studies, but Gazza continues to give him a side eye.</p><p>“What?” Dele snaps.</p><p>“How is it going with Portuguese?”</p><p>It’s a question like any other, but Dele feels like the answer really matters. For Gazza, who could possibly be his lifeline, and for himself, to truly name the situation he’s in and to <em> own </em> it.</p><p>“Dier is… okay. He still doesn't speak a word of English, but you know, it’s actually not the end of the world. We’re reading these stories. Lo and behold, I can actually learn something this way. If he’s not rude on purpose then I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Gazza’s smile lights up his unfairly beautiful brown eyes.</p><p>“Yeah? That’s great. Perfect! Keep up the good work, man.”</p><p>It’s not the weirdest reaction he’s ever gotten from Gazza, so Dele just shakes his head and resumes energetic chewing. He has no time to spare before the fast approaching end of his break.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Gareth gives him a long look and shakes his head - possibly at dark shadows under Dele’s eyes - but in the end, just sighs and goes straight to burning matters.</p><p>“First order of business: mister Dier came by my office last week to discuss your situation,” he opens their weekly advisory session. They see each other every Tuesday at midday, ever since Dele has started his studies.</p><p>It’s a nice little routine they have. Dele silently enjoys having someone to discuss all these formal requirements and uni issues with. Gareth definitely gives the impression of someone who cares.</p><p>“Has he? How can he even- You know what, doesn’t matter.” Dele shrugs. “What did you talk about?”</p><p>“He said you’re going to have one-to-one sessions with him twice a week as an alternative way to complete his course. He mentioned that you didn’t fulfill the course’s prerequisites - which I admitted I was aware of and somehow to blame for. I have to say, I was impressed with his flexibility. I understand these adjustments to curriculum are okay with you?”</p><p>“Sure, man! Totally unexpected, but one hundred percent appreciated. I- I’ve got to say, there was a moment I thought he’d laugh at me and I would be done for, but he’s a nice guy. His individual sessions are great.”</p><p>Gareth gives him a serious look from above his glasses.</p><p>“He did say though that you’re still expected to attend his normal classes to at least have maximum immersion in the language. You’re sure you can afford to spend so much time on Portuguese?”</p><p>“...do I have a choice, Gareth? Do I?”</p><p>He’s not Dele’s teacher, to be precise, and so Dele trusts him more and allows himself to relax in his presence, maybe even be a little shit from time to time. Gareth pretends to be offended, but is in fact silently pleased with having this kind of easy relationship with his mentee, and so it rolls, third year in and still going strong.</p><p>“Dele.”</p><p>“What? I’m just asking.” </p><p>He’s busy trying to ignore the list of assignments longer than his grocery shopping list has ever been since he started uni and convincing himself that he will, in fact, manage to squeeze a little more Portuguese into his schedule.</p><p>“You could still explain to me why-”</p><p>“Thank you, but no thank you. I enjoy Portuguese with mister Dier, and I plan to master it by the end of the term.”</p><p>Gareth lets out a long sigh.</p><p>“Okay, Dele, okay. Great to see you’re so motivated.”</p><p>“Is there anything else we need to discuss?”</p><p>“Miss Stuart sent me an email with a praise for your dissertation work, so well done with that, now, if you could only complete this one last chapter we could discuss the whole formal process…” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After a few days break from their meetings, Dele goes to the next individual session with Dier with a good feeling in his bones. He can’t say he is well rested, but did he manage to focus on his real priorities for a while - on the marketing major, additional business classes and football match on the weekend - and so he feels ready to now approach Portuguese with a fresh mind. During their official class, Dier allowed him to just try and follow the lesson and only asked him to read out loud some grammar exercise which was rather easy to complete. Even an idiot like him memorised the conjugation of one word after it was repeated a million times in the past fifteen minutes. Dele left the class finally satisfied with his performance.</p><p>So now, he feels like he finally found his ground - easy material adjusted to his needs on the evening meetings, a lot of listening and only some humiliation during the group classes. Easy road full of direction signs leading to success and his diploma. </p><p>He’s feeling so good after the training, not troubled by any uncertainty, that the thought of any possible uncompleted assignments doesn’t even cross his mind. Only back at the desk, staring at the text in front of him for the first time, he realises that a) he forgot, <em> goddamn it, stupid, stupid, stupid Dele, fuck</em>; b) Dier will notice immediately.</p><p>And so he’s back to square one: he reads some words out, messes them up, and prepares for scolding. Even his body is ready, anxiety already threatening to tear his body inside out. </p><p>A close examination shows that Dier looks <em> disappointed </em> and that’s even worse. The gloomy look on his face matches his dark clothes and creates a truly miserable look. </p><p>He sighs, reads parts of the story himself and makes Dele repeat after him. It’s more complicated than the previous material, but not something Dele couldn’t google, and he feels burning guilt at letting his teacher down. Despite several tries, Dele can’t make his voice cooperate with him, and at first, it’s a true clusterfuck. </p><p>He thinks he might puke. So much for the worst being over.</p><p>Luckily, after the initial struggle, they manage to work out the way to structure their lesson again, and time starts to pass quickly. But Dele still cannot let go of his shame, and Dier keeps rambling uncharacteristically, nervously, at some point looking almost apologetically. </p><p>Dele doesn’t get him. </p><p>He doesn’t get Dier, he doesn’t get what he is talking about. He <em> still </em> doesn’t get it. It’s not like all his issues are suddenly solved. All is <em> not </em> well, and Dele feels even worse that he somehow allowed himself to kid yourself.</p><p>He leaves in a foul mood, and the rain soaking his clothes on the way back doesn’t really help.</p><p>He must be a picture of true misery, because even clueless Winksy sees him and immediately takes pity on him.</p><p>“Come on, I’m playing FIFA! Quick, quick, I need you here asap!” He throws some dry hoodie straight into Dele’s face. “Change and take the second joystick, they’re owning my arse.”</p><p>Dele drops all his things by the door and lets himself be pushed into a different world. With every goal, he slowly unwinds, and yet it’s still not enough to completely take his mind off things.    </p><p>Winksy is off to shower when Dele takes a first glimpse at his phone since he finished his classes. He has a few new emails, mostly notifications from university systems, but one sticks out.</p><p>It’s from a school’s address he doesn’t know, an empty message with only the signature: <em> E.Dier, Assistant Teacher, Faculty of Linguistics. </em></p><p>The first attachment is an audio file. </p><p>Dele scrambles to find his headphones. They’re all tangled up so it takes him a while (he would lose the new Air Pods on his first day of using them, okay, he totally would, it’s not worth it, that’s why he doesn’t own a pair). Once they’re in, he presses play.</p><p>A familiar, husky voice vibrates in his ears. </p><p>Dele’s breath hitches.</p><p>He recognizes the words, it’s one of the stories they’ve read, the one about a little kitten lost in the woods. It sounds so differently in Dier’s steady, low voice, different even from when he corrected Dele’s mistakes early that day, only a sentence at the time. </p><p>The story flows like the best audiobook Dele has ever heard. He continues to listen, charmed by the accent which somehow makes him unintentionally relax.</p><p>He leaves the audio on and opens the second attachment. It’s a list of vocabulary containing... The names of days in Portuguese only. There’s even a little smiley face drawn on the bottom of the page. Dele laughs rather hysterically until his eyes are full of tears of the unknown background. </p><p>He ends up laying across his bed, the mattress suddenly not as offensively uncomfortable as it is on any other night.</p><p>After the first story ends, Dier goes on with all the others, about the shy panda and a penguin which loses his parents.</p><p>Dele doesn’t even hear the last one, about the kangaroo. His eyelids slowly drop, and between one breath and another, with a low, calm voice still in his ears, he falls into a peaceful sleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do you remember real life uni before all this? Good times... I do not pretend to know how uni works in the UK though, please don't hold me accountable!<br/>Once again, huge thank you to Bea who saves us all from my attempts at Portuguese.</p><p>Any comments happily welcomed! I'll love you forever!<br/>(As always, now probably even more often than ever, I can be also found on <a href="https://dieretmoi.tumblr.com/">tumblr.</a> .)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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